Red Kiss, Black Lips
by TheMadPuppy
Summary: Another day, another lie. [AU from Mad Love, Joker X Harley]


**Title**: Red Kiss, Black Lips (Prelude-Sob Story Mix)  
**Author**: TheMadPuppy  
**E-mail**: themadpuppy85yahoo.ca  
**Permission to archive**: Yes, just tell me!  
**Category**: Drama, Angst, AU  
**Genre**: Hetero  
**Rating**: T  
**Summary**: Another day, another lie. [AU  
**Keywords**: Joker, Harley, Joan, Asylum  
**Spoilers**: None  
**Disclaimer**: This is written for entertainment purposes only, for I don't own DC Comics. The only payment I get is the further fall of your souls x.  
**Author Notes**: See end notes, too many!

* * *

**RED KISS, BLACK LIPS (PRELUDE-SOB STORY MIX)**

It had been nearly twenty-five minutes of silence. Harley hadn't spoken a word since the guards had brought her in and Joan was getting tired of it. It was obvious why she wasn't speaking: she didn't want to talk about the incident that had landed her here. Joan needed her to discuss it, because once Harley began the whole story would come spilling out and then they could move forward with her therapy.

But first Joan needed to get her talking. So far, all of her attempts had been met with indifferent shrugs and her patient refusing to meet her gaze. This wasn't like Harley though, who was usually so joking and talkative. Something had definitely happened that had affected her so deeply she wasn't even willing to discuss it with Joan, her one true confidant.

Finally, having had enough of this, the psychiatrist sighed heavily and decided to be upfront about it. "Harley, what happened?" she asked firmly, leaning forward.

Beginning to sob uncontrollably, the young woman managed to work her story out between sniffles. "Well Joan, it all started with...with…oh my God, why does this stuff keeps happening to _**me?**_"

Joan patted her shoulder empathetically, watching as Harley's mental barrage cracked a little more to let the words rush out faster, like a river gone mad.

"I didn't do anything wrong, I swear, Joan, it was _this_, and then it was _that_, and then first thing I know, _BAM!_, you know? Like nothing else counted? I mean perhaps I'm not the greatest in the world, but I deserve a little more, don't know, _respect_, perhaps? That doesn't make me want to help him. Not _at all_. Sometimes I wonder why I even _bother_. I could be juuuust fine with another one and sit on my butt to laugh at him like the rest of the world does. HA. That would teach him. And…and…can I have some tissues?"

Nodding sympathetically, Joan reached for the Kleenex box only to find it empty. Letting an annoyed sigh escapes, she got up and disappeared in the asylum's corridors with a little "I won't be long" before closing her office's door on the still sobbing Harley.

As soon as she was alone, Harley reached in her bra and pulled out the Joker's picture, one she bribed the guards to take for her, and sensed with relief the usual peace filling her whenever she looked at her man. The sobs quieted down, her face softened, and she kissed the paper with the same tenderness a mom would use to cuddle her baby. Nothing, from the prominence of the nose to the knife-cut smile, was too ugly, too frightening, too much; he was perfect, in every way, in every sense, perfection made into a man…_her_ man…

…her man that tried to strangle her yesterday for absolutely no reason.

In a fit of rage, she crumpled and threw the picture in the garbage can, with a furious need to get up and stomp on the bin until nothing was left but a dirty mess. _No reason!_ And God knows she was good at coming up with every excuse possible to rationalize his most absurd behaviors. Even the perverse "let me offer (impose) you a bluish permanent necklace (collar) of my deep affection (ownership) for you" wasn't working this time. There was trying to choke her just before she awoke in their bed as a bit of kinky foreplay, and there was suddenly turning into a hell-sent beast in the middle of their session. It was rare, but sometimes (and only _sometimes_) she began to be very afraid of her Puddin'.

And even more distressed as she couldn't figure what she did wrong. She couldn't even indulge in a guilty masochistic trip, couldn't plead for her cause, couldn't do anything in fact but sob every day until the tears sent her to a disturbed sleep. One would say she could put her pain on the ice until the Joker got out of solitary, but Harley wasn't very competent at controlling her emotions when it came to her magnificent love (that's what got her in trouble in the first place, anyway). Flash of lightning from nowhere in a clear blue sky, but she was still trying to understand why.

Maybe that's why he chose her as target. Because she would—or at least _try_—to understand. Perhaps he just needed to unleash his anger on someone that wouldn't add injury to the wound. Which means he _trusted_ her to be able to understand. Perhaps it was nothing personal, even. She just had to be patient. He'll get out of confinement and explain everything to her with that charming smile that made her insides melt just like on the pictu—

"_THE PICTURE! Puddin I'm __**sorry!**_!" she cried to no one, springing forward to rummage through the trash's bag despairingly, frantic at the idea that Joan would come in, put 2 and 2 together and confiscate her treasure. She barely had time to find it, smooth it, kiss it, hide it and bite her tongue hard to produce more tears that the door opened on Joan, a pink box of tissues in one hand and a cup of water in the other, her soothing maternal smile floating on the lips.

"There. Feeling better?" she said after a moment, when Harley's sobs finally died. But the blonde girl remained silent and avoided her gaze, and Joan knew, instinctively, that something happened while she was gone. Harley didn't seem distressed anymore; she just looked…mournfully resigned, like if hoping was an inevitable mind plague. It was more alarming than her waterfalls exhibitions, and so she carefully added:

"It's the deal, Harley…no therapy, no Joker. It's no me who wants it, but I agree with it. Arkham is right. You said so yourself."

Harley looked a Joan, so trusting, so willing to help, and almost broke down. Sometimes she so wanted to tell her everything, and be done with the weight on her shoulders. But would she smile with the same love if she did? Would her eyes shine with the same warmth? Surely not. Puddin' said so. Puddin' formerly forbade it, anyway.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I won't make any…progresses with him otherwise. What does Jeremiah said exactly? "You don't swim with a shark while bleeding?" I remember that. I _understand_ that. Believe me. It's just…"

_It's just that I'm hiding to everyone since six years that I'm madly in love with a clown maniac. Believe me, Joan, it's worth it just for the sex!_…sure. Perhaps she should try that one at the next employee's party. _Two lies, one truth: A) I never wear panties when I work B) I'm a real blonde C) I'm screwing the Joker_. She snorted, disheartened. There was just no way out, not even with Joan. Unless she got caught in _flagrante delicto_, she wouldn't even be able to convince someone that she was merely _delusional_ about having sex with him.

…and so the lie rolled on her tongue as easily as all the others, as perfect, as untouchable, as genuinely believable than the rest, as heartbreaking as the last, one dutiful step further in the mud that filled her lungs and clogged her eyes.

"It's nothing Joan. Just some…love problems."

Bewildered, Joan blinked several times.

"Love problems?"

Slowly, Harley nodded, giggling without enthusiasm at Joan's lost expression. Her eyes were seeking her textbooks, as if catching a glimpse of the titles would gave her some sort of divine inspiration about Harley's problem.

Still clearly unsatisfied, Joan opened the mouth several times to speak, then decided against it. The furious tapping of her pen on the desk, however, betrayed how unsettled she was.

"…it's like…", Harley tried to elaborate, "…I feel so empty without him, but with him, it's like an _endless torment_, you understand, Joan?"

And she resumed crying.

Torn between compassion and feminine contempt, Joan just sighed for a long moment. Harley was a mystery. The strongest person she'd ever met, yet a total carpet when it came to her love life. Whoever the guy was, she never wished to meet him. It was just a miserable sight to see the confidant, mischievous, easy-going Harley being dragged down this way.

"Hush now, Harley. You go home, you get some rest. Take some time free. Besides, there's no work for you here until Joker gets out of solitary. Okay? Here, let me help you. Or do you want me to call the guards again? That's really a nasty ankle sprain you have."

"No, I'll be fine for now…just lend me your hand a sec, please."

Once up, though, Harley didn't make a move, and with something akin to commiseration Joan hugged her a moment. _I love him so much, I love him so_, she didn't even have to hear the words to know that Harley was repeating them like a mantra.

"Shhh, Harleen. You'll be fine."

Sniffling and nodding docilely, Harley readjusted her glasses on her nose, a self-defeated note in the voice when she said:

"I'm being ridiculous, ain't I?"

"A bit", Joan answered honestly with a smile, "but I heard that it was part of what love was all about." Then her smile dropped. "Just promise me you won't wait until he gets as bad as our adorable clown here before you ditch him?"

Harley froze a second, then smiled in return. "Promise, Joan. _Promise._"

* * *

**End Notes**

Lord, why am I at my best when it's about writing depressing angsty stuff? Rah.

Did everyone understand? We're in an Alternate Universe here (sorry that I didn't specified so in the characteristics Paige, I wanted to make a surprise). One where Harley is madly in love with Joker, but has still not gone completely mad enough to follow him in the streets. Take it as an extension of the Madhouse Romance if you want (it's written in the same style, those who love AMR should therefore love this one too). Technically, if I kick my ass, there should be an extra huge sequel to this chapter, with three critical moments between Joker and Harley outside the asylum's walls, with a super metaphor to justify the title. It'll be filled with angst, action and smut :P I just found it sad not to use the story in the contest, and so added this as a prelude. If I lost you in the way, by all means ask me questions, and I'll do my best to answer.

(Written in November 2006 for the Sob Story Contest on the LJ JHQ community. Please join us! Check the info on my bio, I hope to see you soon there!)


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